Warcraft: The Beginning of the End
by wickedmetalviking1990
Summary: Set during the Burning Legion's invasion of Lordaeron. Kings and war-lords move against the coming of chaos, while several others find themselves caught up in what could possibly be the end of their world. Rated T for violence. Mostly OCs.
1. The World Astir

**(AN: As if I don't have enough on my plate as it is already, I'm off starting a new story, now in the World of Warcraft! I do not own Azeroth or any of its associated parts, people, names and events.)**

**(The events in this story are leading up to my _World of Warcraft_ epic. They detail the beginning of heroes who will appear in that saga, as well as the events of _Reign of Chaos_ and _The Frozen Throne_ as seen through the eyes of the 'every-man', rather than the eyes of the leaders. Also, the story of Garona Half-Orcen, who was originally going to be in _Reign of Chaos_ as a hero, will be expounded upon. However, the main focus of this story are the OCs, since their story has just barely begun.)**

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><p><strong>The World Astir<strong>

Deep within the forest of Ashenvale, far beyond the eyes of mortal-man, the spirits of the earth and the forest mingled in a great song. To the simple perceptions of mankind, their language would be nothing but the wind blowing through the leaves and the creaking of the ancient trees. But there were some who were trained to see beyond perception and look into the vast world hidden just beyond their mortal eyes. The gentle bear-men, moseying about their business, could feel the whispers in the trees, and understand the language thereof.

All was not well.

In the very land of the bear-men, the earth was beginning shake as if feeling the pain of some ancient hurt. To the south, the horse-men rallied for war. Upon the roof of the world, ghoulish nightmares that should never see the light of day rose from rime-crusted graves to the beck and call of their masters. Far across the sea to the east, the wind's tale was faint and chaotic.

The eastern lands had seen war. Many goodly trees, some of them from the time when the ancients were young, had been cut down to fuel the fires of orcish invaders. Dragons, full of life and beauty, enslaved by their fel-craft and sent to their deaths. But upon the wind a new message spread to all the trees, whose leaves would feel the grim message...

_The reign of chaos has come...at last._

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><p><strong>(AN: Just a short prologue, but so far that's all I have. I've decided to re-write Garona's original part in the story, so that there's more of her later on and less of another character I had created who ended up being just a name on a roster [a Captain Place-Holder, if you will. lol]. Don't run away, this story will begin in earnest once I've finished editing the next chapter!)<strong>_  
><em>


	2. Declaration

**(AN: Now _that_ was a long wait! My laptop died, and with it, all of the progress I've made on this story. So I'm starting over again from scratch.)**

**(Hope you've held out this long, because it will definitely be worth it)**

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><p><strong>Declaration<strong>

The humble town of Tarren Mill rested upon the foothills of the Hillsbrad mountains, in what was considered a rather pleasant and safe part of the Kingdom of Lordaeron. True, there had been recent attacks against the Internment Camps on the outskirts of Dalaran in the west, and a second attack against Strahnbrad to the north. But, Light be praised, they had not attacked this town.

But that had been months ago. Now rumors of trouble in the North-lands began to make their way south towards Hillsbrad. A plague had broken out in Andorhal and had claimed Hearthglen, Stratholme and the outlying villages in between. Only Tyr's Hand and the Capital perservered against the onslaught of this plague.

As if the inspectors from the Capital City going through every wagon-load of grain that came to Tarren Mill wasn't intruding on their daily lives enough, now there were rumors that the Order of the Silver Hand had been disbanded. More than that, it was also believed the Prince of Lordaeron had gone off on a voyage into the fabled lands of Northrend.

Needless to say, things were not as peaceful as in times before.

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><p>Tharbin Redmane, a farmer and member of the Tarren Mill militia, was working in the fields one breezy afternoon. A chill wind, especially this early in autumn, was coming down from Alterac to the north. It had been going on all week, and it threatened to kill the wheat. For the most part, Tarren Mill was independent of Andoral grain, but there was always a chance.<p>

That was why several armed guards and a mage in violet robes were making their way through the fields.

"You there!" the mage, an Elf, said, pointing to Tharbin. "Human peasant."

Tharbin did not like being referred to as 'human peasant'. Then again, Elves were never very friendly members of the Alliance. Even of the Kirin Tor, that commune of magi living in the magical city of Dalaran in the west who were known for aloofness and snobbery, the Elven magi were the most detached and aloof.

"Has there been any activity in your fields?" the elf asked.

"What do you mean," Tharbin replied. "Are squirrels and rabbits carrying this plague of yours?"

"It is no laughing matter, human," the elf-mage condescendingly replied. "Tell me now: has anyone been in your fields?"

"Except for me and the wife," he replied. "Everyone else just uses the road."

"Have either of you had contact with any suspicious characters?" the elf asked.

"No." Tharbin shook his head.

The elf scratched his hair-less chin, then waved the guards after him as he made for the farm-house. Tharbin at once grew alarmed.

"Hey, hey, hey, whoa! What are you doing?"

"I am conducting a search of your house, human."

"But you can't do that! We're clean, I swear it."

"That is for me to decide, human."

"Please. My wife's not in any condition to be having visitors."

"Why?" the elf asked, thinking he had found something. "Has she been receiving visitors at night? Any dark-robed figures hanging about at the door past hours?"

"Look here," Tharbin stated, planting his taller and stronger body before the wispy mage. "I don't know what you're getting at, but my wife is so faithful, she'd make the Archbishop blush. Was planning on joining the Church, in fact, before I met her..."

"Immaterial, human," the elf stated. "Now out of my way."

"Hey, why do you need to search my house?"

"The more you protest," the elf said sternly. "The more reason I have to disassemble your house board by termite-infested board until I find what I'm searching for!"

They were now just outside the house, and neither of them heard the door creak open.

"Honey, is everything alright?"

Standing in the open door-way was Melissa Redmane, the love of Tharbin's life. She had flaming red hair, just like himself, and a pleasant expression on her face.

"Is this your wife?" the elf-mage asked.

"Yes, this is my wife." Tharbin said, stepping up to her side.

The elf looked down at her through his glowing azure eyes, then walked into the house, saying loud enough for both of them to hear:

"A bit large, isn't she?"

Which was hardly the thing to say to a woman, especially one who was with child, as Melissa Redmane had been for the past eight months. She hung her head, but Tharbin placed his arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

"Sorry, ma'am," the guard, a human, said as he and his companions followed the elf-mage into the Redmane farm-house. "We'll just be a few minutes here. Regulations, you know."

"Regulations be damned!" Melissa retorted. "My husband is not a traitor. We both serve the Holy Light, just the same as you."

The elf tisked. "I would control your wife's tongue, human. I might be compelled to turn her into a sheep. Of course, there's no guarantee that her child will survive the polymorphosis."

"Alright, that's it!" Tharbin interjected. "You threaten my wife, you get the hell out of my house."

Just then, the sound of hooves upon the road from Strahbrad could be heard. A voice was crying: "Message from the Capital!"

Taking his wife's hand - he didn't trust her alone with that elvish mage - Tharbin ran out of the house and saw the rider heading toward the center of town. Thither the two of them ran.

Already, in the center of Tarren Mill, the arrival of the rider was causing quite a stir. He pulled his horse up to the tavern, where there was always a hitching post and a trough of fresh hay and water, and dismounted. From out of his saddle bag he produced a hammer and a parchment roll, then walked up to the door of the Tarren Mill chapel. A few strikes of the hammer later and a new post was on the door.

Tharbin and Melissa had a tough time pushing their way through the crowd of people already gathering outside the chapel, eager to see what had been posted. After what seemed like a long while, they had finally reached the top-steps and could see what had been posted.

_To the People of Lordaeron,_

_By permission of His Majesty, King Terenas Menethil II of Lordaeron, an expedition across the Great Sea is being undertaken. All those who wish to join must pack up their belongings and report to Southshore by the end of the month of August._

_J. Proudmoore._

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><p><strong>(AN: So, how was that for a second [well, first] chapter? Any thoughts?)<br>**


	3. The Speech

**(AN: Here's a new chapter for you - and if I had a dollar every time I said just those six words, I'd be a rich man.)**

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><p><strong>The Speech<strong>

Those who left the door of the Tarren Mill chapel either left in haste, or in perplexity. It was the latter group that Tharbin and Melissa were in as they returned to their house. Fortunately, the pesky Elf-mage and his guards had already left.

"An expedition!" Melissa spoke aloud. Her voice betrayed a kind of awe that Tharbin didn't usually see in her eyes.

"No, we can't do this," he returned.

"Why not?"

"Well, for one, you're in no condition to be traveling," he said. "For two, there's nothing out in the West. It's crazy! Everybody knows it's the end of the world that way!"

"But what if we were wrong?" Melissa asked. "What if there is something beyond the Great Sea, we just never went far enough?"

"Melissa, we can't just pack up our things and leave! I mean, what about your family? What about the fields?"

"I'll send them a letter," she said. "Besides, you can go on this expedition as a soldier. You were in the militia, they'll consider you. The pay is decent, and it will pay for the fields when we get back."

"It won't buy back the crops we'll loose," Tharbin stated. "Besides, you were never interested in going places before. Why the sudden interest?"

Melissa sighed.

"I didn't want to tell you this, honey," she said. "Because, well, we all know how you feel about...that. But..."

"But what?"

"It was the Light."

Tharbin did a quick double-take. "W-What? But I thought the Light didn't speak to you anymore. Not after..." He lowered his head.

"Not after I left my plans to join the church to marry you," she said. It had been a fair match: she was the youngest of three sisters, both of whom married off within years of reaching the age of womanhood. She, being the third sister, was allowed to choose what she wished to do with her life. Not something poor families usually had the means to accomplish, but both of her sisters had married rather well to-do fellows, so her family's needs were secure.

She had always had a profound sense of piety towards the Church of the Holy Light. It had been her goal to become a novice in the order and use the power of the Holy Light to bring healing to the people of Lordaeron, who never seemed to have recovered after the brutal orcs invaded many years ago.

Such had been her plans, until she met a fiery-haired farmer who caught her eyes.

"Honey, don't think of it like that," she said.

"Like what?" he returned. "Hey, look. I know you probably regret your decision. Who wouldn't? I always wanted to be an adventurer when I was a kid, but when the war came, somebody had to tend the farm and everyone else in my family was gone."

"Honey, please. I chose you because I love you, that's never been truer today than it was two years ago. If I had to make that same choice over again, I would choose you again and again."

Whether he was blushing or not was hard to tell, for Tharbin's skin was reddened by hard work from sunrise to sunset in the fields.

"But lately I've been having these dreams," Melissa continued. "Where I see this Light and..." She sighed, trying to speak her mind. "I feel something, it-it's leading me somewhere. Maybe this is it? Maybe it's trying to tell us to go west?"

Tharbin wrapped his arms around his wife's shoulders.

"You're lucky you married me," he said jokingly. "Anybody else would think you're insane."

She chuckled, then kissed him back. Some, mostly the vain and finicky - her sisters, unfortunately, were in this category - would find kissing a bearded man unattractive; she didn't.

Tharbin sighed. "Okay, I guess we can go."

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><p>The month of July wore on and on, with the days becoming less and less balmy. Southshore was practically an afternoon's stroll from Tarren Mill, so for any living there, there was not much of a rush to go down there. Which is not to say that Tarren Mill had many days free of heavy traffic after the message was posted. The <em>Filched Purse<em> inn-and-tavern never saw better days than the last few of the month of July and the whole of August.

Though Tharbin was not usually the type to get hammered, he, like most of the people in the town, enjoyed the occasional pint of thunder ale at the inn. Furthermore, it was also a place where news was frequently shared. Travelers, soldiers and adventurers often frequented the inns and shared stories and information about the outside world over a mug of strong drink with any eager to listen. This brought him to the inn.

Many of the new-comers were refugees from up north. They told ghost-stories of ghouls and ghosts and the dead walking again, fighting the living. Many dismissed these as fantasy, though the refugees didn't. Whole towns were wiped out, villages left desolate and crawling with a strange, unnatural blight. Then, as mysteriously as it had happened, it all ceased. They hoped and prayed that the Prince's voyage into the North would bring an end to this calamity of undeath.

But there were others here who brought better news. Dwarves from the south-continent spoke of troubles in Ironforge. Cave-dwelling troggs were attacking the gnomes in Tinkertown to the south-west of Dun Morogh, and the remnants of the Horde, hiding in the Burning Steppes, were becoming more and more hostile.

_Fine time to call for an expedition_, Tharbin thought. _It seems that we need people here at home more than..._

None of it made any sense. Why should they be going when danger reared its ugly head and duty demanded that they stand their ground against it?

He called Shay the Inn-Keeper over and gave him six copper pennies for the drink, then departed. It would be a big day tomorrow, and he had to get plenty of rest.

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><p>The last days of August came and went swiftly. Melissa was still a month away from the end of her pregnancy, at least according to the town physic, and despite her insistence that she was well and healthy, Tharbin still had his scruples about having her on a boat for weeks on end near the end of her time.<p>

Melissa had her own scruples as well, but they were different. Her mother and father, along with her eldest sister and her family, had moved to Brill just north of the Capital. As July passed into August, she began to have strange dreams, nightmares even, that she related to Tharbin once when she woke both of them with crying and screaming.

_I was standing on the roof of our chapel. I could see in all directions. In the north, I saw a dark shadow crawl across the land: there were faces in the shadow, the skulls of dead things. Then the shadow was all alight with fire, and faces even _more_ terrifying stared at me from within. So I looked this way and that, and when I looked into the West, I saw a black bird flying that way, and the shadow did not touch it._

It was difficult, living with someone whom the Light had graced (or cursed) with visions. Melissa admitted that she, herself, knew little of what it meant, except that something horrible was happening in the North, despite Tharbin's assurances that the plague had died down and no more dead things had been sighted. Immediately, she wrote a letter to her sister and parents in Brill, urging them to come to Southshore, at least to see them off.

Now August was ending, and as of yet, the postman brought no letters of reply from Brill.

The morning of the thirtieth day of August rose with a pleasant chill. The birds were singing in all of the trees, and the mountains to the east were golden-red with the new day's sunrise. It was as if the Hillsbrad Foothills were just now revealing all of their beauty and glory, or maybe they appeared as such because, in the mind of Tharbin Redmane, it would be the last time he would look upon them for a great while.

Though he was a stranger to long journeys, Tharbin was not naive and learned quickly. While Melissa slept through the early hours of the morning, he was up and about, gathering things they would need for the journey. They were not very rich, so they had few clothes to pack: pretty much what they would be wearing once they left the house would be what they would take. He brought a large wool-lined cloak, against the coming winter months. His militia garb, a shirt of steel-rings, a sword and small shield and an iron cap, he brought out from a large trunk at the foot of their bed. The rings would go underneath his coat, since he wasn't officially on-duty.

Just as he was about to rouse Melissa from her sleep, he quietly crept over to the trunk and pulled forth a roll of heavy vellum, a tiny black bottle with a squat body, and a quill. He knew his wife, who could read and write both the common language of Lordaeron and bits of Old Arathi, might want something to pass the long, restless hours of their voyage.

"Honey," he whispered, gently nudging her shoulder with his hand. "It's time now. Wake up."

She slowly stirred from sleep, her hands sweeping up to rub the last bits of weariness from her eyes.

"Good morning, love." she beamed up at him. He extended a hand and helped her up. She was dressed shortly and they shared a quick breakfast before checking again to see if they needed to bring anything else. That done, Tharbin took the key to the house, then, both of them clad and ready for the walk to Southshore, walked outside and locked the doors of their house. It would be the last time they would ever exit these doors.

From their house, which was on the north side of Tarren Mill, they would have to take the road into town and then farther south to reach the port-town of Southshore. So it was that Tharbin and Melissa made their way down the road to Southshore. As they drew closer to the town, they heard passersby and people who saw them shout scathing remarks in their direction.

"Coward!"

"Fool! Running off into the blue like that!"

"Going for a swim in the Great Sea, are you, Tharb?"

"Turn back, before you regret it!"

These, of course, were just some of the nicest remarks that were thrown their way. It suddenly dawned upon Tharbin just how ridiculous the idea of going out into the blue on this 'expedition' really sounded.

"We can still turn back, you know." he reminded Melissa in a quiet whisper.

"I know," she returned, and did not slack her pace.

Just then, a young man was seen riding up on a horse from the south road. Tharbin recognized him right off: for in a town so small as Tarren Mill, pretty much everyone knew everyone, even the post-riders.

"Out for a walk?" the post-rider asked.

"Yes, that's right." Tharbin replied.

"I've got a letter for you, ma'am," he said, nodding to Tharbin's wife. "From Brill."

Melissa eagerly reached up and took the letter from out of the post-rider's extended hand. She broke the wax seal, opened the letter and read therefrom, while the post-rider rode into town to finish his circuit.

_My Dear Sister,_

_I am glad to have heard from you. I hope things are well in Hillsbard. It's always cold up here, but we get to visit the Capital every weekend and see the sights. It's so lovely, Melissa, I wish you and Tharbin could come up here and visit more often._

_As for your invitation, I'm afraid I cannot accept it. This whole plague-scare has almost cut off all travel between the Northern Boroughs and southern Lordaeron. It's silly, I know: we're miles away from Andorhal, yet I suspect they wish to keep the Capital safe from any outbreak. _

_Mother and Father send their love. I will try to visit you next year in the spring, when your baby has been born._

_Light bless you, Amelia  
><em>

Tharbin saw Melissa's face fall in sadness for a brief moment.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"They're not coming," she said. "I wish they could have come down here, maybe I could have convinced Amelia to come with us."

"Melissa, don't be upset," he assured her. "We'll come back in a few weeks, maybe a month, and then we'll go and visit them then, huh?"

She nodded, a smile forcing its way up. They continued on their way down the south-road. While they walked, Melissa took one last look behind her at Tarren Mill, its redbrick roofs glowing in the sun. Yet she also looked beyond the roofs of Tarren Mill: if her eyes could have glanced over the white-peaks of the Alterac Mountains, into the lush evergreen glades of Tirisfal, her eyes would have been searching for her sister Amelia, and her parents.

Something inside was telling her that she would never see them again.

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><p>About mid-day, the Redmanes were coming upon the town of Southshore. Even from the distance of the cross-roads, where the road branched off towards Stromgarde to the east and Silverpine to the west, they could see that something was amiss in Southshore. Tents dotted the landscape at least a third of a mile outside of the town. Tharbin was surprised that so many people had actually <em>chosen<em> to come out here, especially considering the 'warm' send-off the people of Tarren Mill had given them.

Once they arrived, they reported to Lionheart, Duke of Hillsbrad and also commander of the Lordaeron Brigade. They were given a place to stand along with most of the other people who came with them: workers, peasants, laymen, soldiers. Tharbin, since he was a militia, was inducted into the Lordaeron Brigade and given a pale-blue tabard to wear. This would distinguish him, as an acting serviceman, from the other groups in the Expedition.

Tharbin sat down at Melissa's side, while many of the other people of the Lordaeron Brigade milled about, spoke with those from their towns and villages who had joined the Expedition, or wandered about, looking for answers. Of course, there were only two questions on the lips and minds of everyone present:

"What are we doing here?" one asked.

"Where are we going?" another added.

"As far as I know," the Captain of the Hillsbrad Company, to which Tharbin belonged, answered. "Our leader is a sorceress of the Kirin Tor, who's been investigating the plague in the North lands."

"So it's real, then."

"I don't know," the captain replied. "I was relieved of my duty after the Blackrock Orcs attacked Strahnbrad."

"But surely you've heard the rumors?"

"Maybe, but guessing rumors isn't my job. It's running your company. The turn-out is surprising: we've got dwarves and gnomes from the Southern Continent, and many elves from Quel'Thalas as well. Hell, even those separatists from Gilneas sent over five hundred of their own."

"But where are we going?"

"West, that's all Duke Lionheart will tell me. He says that's all _he_ knows."

Suddenly, a horn was sounded. Like everyone else in the camp, Tharbin turned in the direction the horn was sounded. Coming down the south road was a lone rider, dressed in the violet robes of the Kirin Tor. Cheers rose from a company gathered under a green banner with an anchor upon it: the emblem of Kul Tiras.

The rider went rode on into the town. Then the horns were blown again and Lionheart shouted something that only the captain could hear.

"Pack it in, people!" the captain shouted. "We're boarding the ships! Step lively, now!"

So it was that Tharbin and Melissa, hand in hand, made their way with the Lordaeron Brigade into the town. As they neared the docks, they saw a great number of workers piling supplies and provisions into the ships.

Suddenly, the violet-robed mage came into view. An aid brought up a barrel and helped the mage stand upon it. Once atop, the violet hood was removed, revealing the face and person of their leader. She was a girl, with long golden hair and a face that looked like she had never spent a day outside of the walls of the Violet Citadel. When she spoke, her voice was small and meek, yet, by some blessing either by the Light or her own considerable powers, all who were here gathered heard what she said.

"My people," she began. "Hear what I have to say. You have come far to this place, asking yourselves why you have been summoned here. You deserve to know the whole truth." Cries of approval and shouts of 'Yea!' followed.

"Many of you have doubtless heard the rumors of the plague in the North. It is worse than true, for this plague does not merely claim our people, it turns them into mindless undead. Already, three of our greatest cities have been laid to ruins and thousands have died because of it. My people, this plague is only the beginning.

"Our only hope lies in sailing west. I cannot tell you how or why, but if we sail west, we will have a chance to battle this plague of undeath that threatens to consume us all, and save our people, our loved ones..." She paused, the ghost of sadness upon her face and the touch of sorrow in her voice.

"I understand, good people, that this is your home. I understand the love you bear for the place of your ancestors. Therefore, if you will not commit to this expedition with a free and willing heart, you may depart in peace, and with the hope that the Light shall be with you."

To Tharbin's surprise, many more people chose to follow this girl, this Lady Proudmoore, than he had expected. Looking down at his own hand, he felt a tight squeeze from Melissa. He looked over to her, and she nodded. Nothing had to be said, that was enough for him.

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><p><strong>(AN: A lot of the lore that I've drawn upon here is from <em>Warcraft III<em>, which, in case you know not, was the basis for _World of Warcraft_. It's a very good game, and all that. This, as I think I've stated before, is that story told from a _different_ perspective: of the 'every day' person, not the heroes...or at least, not _yesterday's_ heroes, if you get what I mean. [lol])**


	4. A Long Voyage

**(AN: So not only did my computer lose internet, it crashed! So updates are once again few and far between. Please stick through with me, people!)**

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><p><strong>A Long Voyage<strong>

Needless to say, traveling by sea was nothing like how Tharbin Redmane thought it would be. Inside the hull, he and Melissa shared the bilge, the very bottom of the ship, with about a hundred others who were on this ship. The crew, the forty who were in charge, called them "land-lubbers" at first, and "bilge-rats" after a few days into the voyage: mostly because they slept on hay at the bottom of the ship. It was hot and stuffy in the bilge, both at day and night. Everything swayed, and it was hard to get used to the floor on which they were standing being so unsteady.

On deck, things weren't much better. The "bilge-rats" were always in the way of the crew, and they never let them forget it. Even the elements were also not on their side. There was little shade or wind resistance, so one was wind-blown and sweating even when it wasn't humid. One always had to watch their steps, because the tossing of the ship meant that the unwary could find themselves swimming in the middle of the Great Sea.

Several weeks into the voyage, many of the "bilge-rats" were becoming nervous. Land had been left behind long ago on the first morning out from Southshore. Many of them were afraid of the one thing that was on everyone's mind, even that of Tharbin: that they would find themselves all too soon at the edge of the world, with no way of returning to the safety of Lordaeron.

Melissa sat below deck most of the time, trying in the dim light to keep a bit of a journal. Tharbin, of course, tried to learn as much as he could by listening to the tales of those at the mess-hall. As an enlisted soldier, more or less, he could associate with the other soldiers, the ones who were allowed to sit and eat with the lower-ranking sailors.

"How much longer?" a Dwarf asked, one evening, over their meal: bone-solid hardtacks and very little salted meat. Everyone was on rations, because they had a weight limit, especially with one hundred and forty people on a ship, and they only had a set amount of supplies for each ship. It had to last as long as they needed for their journey.

Which nobody knew.

"No idea," one of the sailors said. "Not even the captain knows. All we have is 'sail west'."

"But there's nothing out in the west!" one of the Lordaeron Brigade stated. "Just the edge of the world."

An elf laughed. "What's the matter, human? Missing your home already?"

"The lad's got a point," the Dwarf said, stepping up to the defense of the Lordaeron Brigade soldier. "We can't sail forever if there's nothing out there, you know."

"You know, there might actually be something," a lieutenant of the Kul Tiras Elite Corps said. They were easily recognizable by their green tabards with the silver anchor. "Admiral Proudmoore has always been in search of the fabled islands of the South Seas."

The elf laughed again. "Pandaria is a myth! Who could ever imagine a world inhabited with bears the size of golems? Next you'll be telling me that there are worlds beyond our own, maybe filled with cattle adept at arcane magic!"

"Well, the world's quite a big place," the Dwarf replied. "The Mountain King's brother is always discovering new things, both of them are! Ye never know what they might find."

"Spare me, you foul-smelling simpleton! No one in Quel'Thalas believes in anything as foolish as lands beyond the western sea."

"Then where do goblins come from?" the Kul Tiras warrior asked.

"By the Sunwell, human! Did anyone ever warn you about goblins in your basic training?" the elf exclaimed. "They live for profit! Selling kith and kin for the sake of a few gold coins is considered a shrewd business move. This whole 'lost island of Kezan' is part of their money-making ploy. They set up this ridiculous crock about being long lost away from their home, and they need the money to get their way back. It's a common excuse to charge extortionate prices on shoddy, ready-to-explode-in-your-face items!"

"Boy, lad, I thought gnomes had it out against goblins, but you seem to just flat-out hate them!"

"My parents were blown up by goblin sappers in the war!"

"I'm sorry," the Kul Tiras soldier apologized. "I just wanted to tell you that the Kul Tiras are out here on the Seas as well. We might just run into them."

"Maybe next time," the elf replied. "You'd be careful what you let slip off your rotten tongue, spy!"

"We're not here to spy," the Kul Tiras soldier retorted. "We're simply reporting back to Lady Proudmoore, to see how her people are fairing. We're not spying on anyone."

The elf glared at him from the rim of his wine-cup, in profound disbelief of what the Kul Tiras warrior had said.

"Well, you know," the sailor interjected after a lengthy silence. "Disappearing islands are the least of your worries out here. The Maelstrom is always a danger for those who sail west. I reckon if there is an edge of the world, people will be convinced that's it. And there are sharks on the open seas, and sea monsters with huge fins on their backs that'll make you think they're sharks, but are much bigger!"

"I've never seen or heard of such things," the elf replied.

"And that makes them not real?"

"Yes!"

"I've heard there's dozens of 'em off the coast of Stranglethorn," the Dwarf said.

"It's said they wield anchors from a hundred sunken ships," the sailor said. "And they pack a punch so strong they'll punch holes in our hulls in one fell swoop!"

"No such thing could possibly exist!" the elf retorted. "No one thing could move an anchor without the use of magic!"

Tharbin decided he'd go back to the hold. By the Light! This elf was as intolerant as the Kirin Tor mage who so unceremoniously raided their house. Just as he was leaving, he heard something about "...last of them are still in Lordaeron." from the Kul Tiras soldier. Whatever that meant, however, could wait until the morning.

* * *

><p>During the night, Tharbin's dreaming was disrupted by a cry out from Melissa. It took a few moments to calm her down before she could say anything. But she said not about the dream at first. What she wished to do was go up on deck and breathe the open air once again after so many weeks.<p>

"It's dangerous up there," Tharbin said. "You wouldn't believe how many I've seen tossed overboard, and sometimes even the crew."

"I know, I know," she nodded. "I just need to get out of this stuffy ship for one moment."

He protested, but Melissa insisted. With a resignative sigh, Tharbin helped her up to her feet and strode with her through the deck of the ship to the ladder that led top-side. Outside, the moon and stars bathed the deck and the ocean is a silvery glow. Each of the ships hung a lantern upon the bow and stern of their vessels, so that the other ships would not hit each other at night. They were in great haste, and haste dictated speed by night and by day.

As they stood upon the deck, Melissa looked about, in every direction, but saw nothing other than the ships, the sea and the sky. She sighed with relief.

"Honey, what's troubling you?"

"I had a dream last night," she explained. "Like the one I had before."

"It was only a dream," he rationalized.

"It seemed so real," she shivered. "I had to see if it was or no."

"Well, what happened?"

"It seemed to take place immediately where the previous dream had ended," she began. "I was following a raven over the sea. I looked back and saw the shadow was devouring the lands behind me. I couldn't go back, I could only go forward. But as I went on, I saw a huge shadow growing out of the west. At first I thought it was the raven, but then, as it got closer, I saw what it was: a dragon!"

He placed his large, strong arms around Melissa's shoulders. "It was just a dream, love. There haven't been any dragons in our parts since the War."

She nodded in recognition.

"Just be patient, nothing's wrong."

She sighed again. "I hope you're right, love. I hope you're right."

* * *

><p>Over the next several days, a change seemed to come over the Elven members of the crew. If they had been rude before, they slowly became unbearable. Fights broke out over the smallest of provocations, or sometimes over no provocation at all. One time, that Tharbin was able to witness first hand, was at mess. An elf mage started a fight over the food rations, angry that he wasn't being served mana cakes and white cream. The cook, who had been rather annoyed with the rationing as well, said that there wasn't anything he could do, that everyone else got the same thing. Apparently, the elf thought this meant the cook was calling him a commoner, and exploded on him. For one so small, he was an 'imposing' five foot three inches, it took two whole crewmen to pull the rageful elf off the cook.<p>

It was more than just doldrums, because everyone was suffering from that. The men were quiet and a bit distant, the Dwarves drank more, and the gnomes stopped tinkering. Of course, if anyone spoke of these in the hearing of the Elves, which was impossible not to do since they were very keen-eared, it only agrivated them the more.

Of course, many people caught sickness. The physicians were often quite busy, and so if anyone needed anything, they had to go through the Elves, who had many healers and physicians. So it was that Tharbin had to find one for Melissa when she started complaining about pains in her stomach.

"I don't care if she dies," he told Tharbin. "I am a priest. I deal in critical cases of life and limb."

"She could be at risk!" Tharbin emphasized.

"I have more important matters to attend to," the elf said, slow anger simmering in his voice. "Than to nurse a cow back to health!"

At that moment, Melissa walked past on some errand for one of the other ladies in the bilge. She looked at the elf, then at Tharbin, and he knew from the look in her eyes that she heard everything. She ran back below deck.

"Ho ho!" the elf laughed. "Yes, that's right, sow-mother! Go back to the kitchen and fix me some real food!"

"My wife is not a pig!" Tharbin angrily replied.

"You're right," the elf replied, a smirk on his face. "Calling her a sow would be too harsh an insult to swine!" He laughed loudly, until a fist, hardened by work in the fields, made contact with his fair Elvish face. To Tharbin's complete shock, the Elf started crying, and cradling his nose. It was not bleeding.

"Come on, I didn't mean it..." Tharbin began to apologize. But immediately, the elf leaped up, hands around Tharbin's throat, and pushed him as close as he could to the edge of the boat, attempting to throw him overboard. It was only the intervention of the crew that saved him from such an end.

This brought Tharbin Redmane and Feranil Pureshine to the presence of Lady Proudmoore. Apparently several other outbreaks of violence started by the Elvish crewmembers had occured on the other ships. Eager to put a stop to this, Proudmoore summoned the ships together and spoke with the Elves and members of the crew as one. So the flagship, the _HMS Turalyon_, roped two of the other vessels together and made a conclave. Proudmoore, wearing her white and violet robes, stood on a crate in the middle ship while everyone involved stood around.

"I've heard of what's been happening among the crew," she said to them. "I am not here to point fingers at anyone. We will be together for a long period of time. I know that many of you have aught against each other, for whatever reason, but we cannot let that divide us. Our quest lies before us, therefore I plead with you once again to remember that you are members of the Alliance, and as such, you must conduct yourselves with honor and with dig..."

"To hell with honor!" an Elf shouted. "The Alliance never saved Quel'Thalas from the trolls during the War!"

"And the internment camps!" a human stated. "My entire village never recovered from the war because we had to pay taxes for those green-skinned bastards to live!"

"Shouldn't we be speaking to someone from the Army?" another Elf added. "You know, like a man?"

"I know I am no warrior," Lady Proudmoore continued. "The one I know you would have followed through hell and back refused to listen to reason." She paused. "But we are here, and we must press on until we have reached the lands of the West."

"There is no land to the west!" another elf shouted.

"Lies! All lies!" a Dwarf shouted.

"Please, good people, please! We must have order! We cannot hope to survive if we're constantly at each other's throats. I ask you once again to..."

Suddenly, a cry was heard from the crows-nest. A ship had been spotted, flying a tattered pale-blue flag. The meeting was more or less adjourned, but Tharbin had a few things to say to Lady Proudmoore, so he did not leave the flag-ship just yet.

The second ship, which looked like it was half-dead, was brought along-side the flag-ship and it's crew brought ashore. Lady Proudmoore was the first one to greet the survivors.

"Who is your leader?" she asked.

"I am, milady," a man in his mid-to-late thirties stated. "Lieutenant Wyrmbane, 1st Legion."

Proudmoore's face seemed to light up as she heard the word '1st Legion'.

"You were with Prince Arthas in Northrend, weren't you?" she asked.

"That is correct," he nodded. "Though we bring troubling news."

Any hope or happiness that the lady Proudmoore might have had in her expression seemed to fade away like a fog before the morning light.

"Has the expedition failed?" she asked. "Is Prince Arthas dead?"

"Light have mercy," Wyrmbane said. "Something worse has come over the Prince. He went into the North to find the dreadlord Mal'Ganis, but when he completed his quest, he turned on his own men. I saw him cut down Falric and Marwyn with his own hands...and then commit horrible atrocities against the Light by raising them back as mindless undead. He fought the undead with such vigor, sparing no expense - not even his own people - and now...to see him fall like this!"

Proudmoore's face fell once more. "Are you the only one who survived?"

"I don't remember," he said. "I think there was a party of Dwarves who went looking for their fallen captain, but I know not what became of them. My company barely survived. We ran out into the frozen wasteland, with what few workers we had: we made a ship out of the native wood and tried to sail ourselves back to Lordaeron. We had to warn Terenas about what his son has done. But, it seems, we were driven off-course...to find you! What brings you away from Lordaeron?"

She turned around. "When did this happen?"

"At least two weeks ago," Wyrmbane replied.

"That was when we left," she returned. "I spent several months putting together an expedition to the west. There are legends of a land called Kalimdor, and I intend to find it. For now, our way lies to the west. You must be content to follow along with us until we have found our destination. At which time, you may freely return."

Wyrmbane nodded, then dismissed himself so that he could see to his men. Tharbin tried to walk after Lady Proudmoore, trying to get her attention. But she seemed very distant, and walked into her quarters immediately, sealing the door behind her.

* * *

><p>In the western sky, the clouds began to darken with every mile the Expedition traveled. Tharbin noticed the change in the weather and kept below in the bilge for the rest of this duration of the journey. This was the part of the journey that he did not enjoy, if it could be said that he enjoyed <em>any<em> of it.

The weather persisted for many days of endless storming. Even in the bilge, water would find a way to get down among them. Not enough to put the ship in serious danger, but just about enough to make sleeping in wet, soaking straw uncomfortable. Of course, the rats didn't make things any more comfortable. With almost everyone except a skeleton crew manning the ships, the bilges were soon filled and fights seemed more commonplace. Especially the Elves, it seemed. Though members of every species were on edge from the doldrums, the Elves seemed to be even _more_ on edge and irritable.

At last there came a day when almost everyone were on their way to the top deck. Tharbin led Melissa up the stairs and to the ledge, through a sea of people. A small ship was coming towards them from the eastern horizon. On a clear day, such as this, all eyes could see the pale-blue banners of Lordaeron flying proudly from the masts of the ship.

What happened afterward, however, was nothing less than a disaster. Word slowly trickled down through gossip that the one ship, a scout sent by Lady Proudmoore to secure any last-minute stragglers interested in the Expedition, was one of three vessels: the others hadn't reported in yet. But the word of that one soon was echoed down all ranks: and his story was filled with sorrow and despair.

Prince Arthas had indeed returned from Northrend. But now the story that Halford Wyrmbane told seemed corroborated. He had killed King Terenas, his own father, and laid waste to Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas at the head of an army of undead. The Dwarves of Khaz Modan responded by felling the Thandol Span, effectively cutting off the southern continent. But Prince Arthas' betrayal was not the worst of this tale. Every town in Tirisfal Glades had been destroyed, their citizens slaughtered or turned into mindless undead warriors loyal only to Arthas. Even Hillsbrad had fallen and its people scattered to the farthest corners of Lordaeron.

It was with shock and tears that Tharbin and Melissa Redmane realized that there would be no going back. Her father, mother, sister and her family were now dead or worse. Tarren Mill was most likely deserted or destroyed. Whatever hope there might be in this life, it lay now in the West, whether there be land or not.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I could have dragged this chapter on forever, but chose to bring it to a close on that "happy" note)<strong>

**(I'm not exactly the biggest fan of the Quel'Dorei/Sin'Dorei, as you can see. According to the lore, they lost everything when the Sunwell exploded [which was the cause of their irritability, because, in _The Frozen Throne_, it's said that they became increasingly agitated and aggressive after the Sunwell's corruption]. They wanted a cure/treatment for their magical addiction, yet they did not want to join themselves unto the Legion...which, thanks to Kael'Thas, they did. And even still, blood elves are still pretty snobbish. I wanted to get some of that across to people, since all they see in _World of Warcraft_ is a pretty 'holier-than-thou' race of Elvish a-holes)**

**(At this time, the Blood Elves hadn't been 'officially' created, but they're on their way. Though, as in _World of Warcraft_, there are still some High Elves [Quel'Dorei]. However they were able to find a way to control their magical addiction, I might just explain in these stories [this is the first of a series, in case you knew not].)**


	5. Landfall

**(AN: You know, it's easy to play _World of Warcraft_ or even _Warcraft III_ and forget how the people in that world feel. To us, it's just a game, but to those who inhabit the world, it's as real as the world in which we live in. And I'd like to capture a hint of that in my story.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Landfall<strong>

A day came at last when excitement took hold of all those on board the ships. Tharbin, who was growing weary of the long sea voyage, was eager to see the cause of all this excitement. With Melissa in tow, he wound his way past the many eager sailors, soldiers and crewmen on their way up to the top deck.

After many days of nothing but ocean for miles in all directions, the line of reddish sand was as welcomed as the Light after months of darkness. It was not the tiny smudge of a lost island, or even the gentle rise of a lone mountain risen up from the sea: land stretched out as far as the eye could see to the north and as far as the eye could see to the south. It was a continent, perhaps larger than all of the Southern Continent, even with Lordaeron put together.

The Redmanes, along with every one of the crew and Expedition members, were eager to come ashore. Fortunately, this was not a military movement, where the soldiers had to disembark from the ships first. Orders from Proudmoore's ship, positioned on the southern end of the shore, indicated that every able-bodied man, woman, Elf, Dwarf (and even those of the gnomes who came with them) were to prepare to move in-land. This meant that women, children and the elderly had to stay on board the ships until further notice.

Melissa, however, was not keen on this idea.

"Honey, it's for the best," Tharbin said, once they had become aware of the orders. "We don't know what's out there, and you're almost at your time."

"I'm fine, love," she returned. "But I have to go with you."

"Why? You'll be hurt, and I'll never forgive myself if..."

"I'm almost certain I have to go." she said. "I can't explain it, but I know that where I need to be right now is with the Expedition."

"They'll never let you go!"

"I don't care, dammit!" she returned. "I'm going with the Expedition, if I have to chase after you all the way across this new land!"

Tharbin sighed, seemingly defeated in his argument. However, he knew that this would never be acceptable with those in charge.

"Still," he resigned. "You're in no condition to fight. They'll never let you go!"

"Excuse me," a voice said. Tharbin and Melissa turned to see an Elf sorceress with flaming red hair standing a few feet beside them.

"What's your story?" Tharbin returned, a little too harshly. He'd found himself on the receiving end of one too many elven fists during the duration of the voyage to be trusting of anyone with glowing eyes and long ears.

"I heard that your wife is interested in joining the Expedition," the Elf said.

"What's it to you?" Tharbin suspiciously asked. "Gonna snitch on the stupid, law-breaking humans, are you?"

"Honey..."

"Well, what are you gonna do about it?" he asked, challenging the Elf again.

"I was wondering," the Elf returned. "If I could be of assistance. But, unfortunately..."

"No, wait!" he returned. "I-I'm sorry. Things haven't exactly been pleasant with the Elves on this voyage, no offense meant."

The Elf nodded her head. "I understand. If you want my help, you must say so now. It seems we don't have much time: the Lordaeron Corps is moving out right now."

"Alright!" he relented. "I'll take your help."

"Good," the Elf returned, with a smile. "Your wife will stay with me, as my apprentice scribe."

"Can I at least know your name?" Tharbin asked.

"Alessan," she replied. "Ishnu falanah, Tharbin Redmane."

Tharbin was quite surprised that this Elf sorceress, whom he'd never met, knew him by name. Already she was speaking with Melissa, throwing an apprentice's cloak over her and giving her a small satchel filled probably with the instruments of a scribe. Part of him hoped that this would work, at least for her happiness. Another part, however, was still fearful that she was now willingly throwing herself into undue danger.

Less than an hour later, the Lordaeron Corps was assembled and disembarked onto this new land. The ships dropped anchor and several boats filled with as many passengers as they could carry without running the risk of sinking rowed out to the shore. The people of Lordaeron had their first real look at this new land.

* * *

><p>It was a desert, as far as the eye could see. Several stunted palms, like the fabled ones of Stranglethorn Vale, dotted the beach here and there, but further in-land, sand and clay dominated a land dotted by short, stunted scrub-like trees. Several large mesas and buttes, most likely made of sand-stone, rose up out of the landscape, looming like the massive ruins of Thoradin's Wall.<p>

Marching across this land, however, was a different chore. The heat was not very great, but it was very dry. On the sea, they had no fresh water to drink, only weak rum to quench their thirst: it was dually weak in that it took a lot for it to affect anyone (which was impossible to do, what with the supplies being rationed), and it only made the drinker more thirsty. The salty sea water was unfit to drink, and so any hope of fresh water was to be found in this new continent, Kalimdor, was it?

But there was no water to be found. An army could not march in the desert without water, and there were enough people here present for at least five armies. As such, hydromancers were rationed in each company. They could call upon their usage of arcane power to conjure mana-imbued droughts for the troops, and their ability to sense the ambient humidity could serve as a means of locating sources of ground water for wells, should the need arise.

Yet even the hydromancers could not concentrate on their spells during the long drudging marches through the sands and scrubby deserts. And as the days marched on, it seemed that this expedition was doomed to failure without water.

* * *

><p>At night, the crickets chirped loudly. The skies were clear, perhaps clearer than any nights in Lordaeron ever had been. The howls of desert wolves echoed in the distance. The snorts and growls of creatures they knew not added to the sleeplessness of the guards. In a certain tent belonging to Tharbin Redmane, he could not get to sleep. In one corner sat his wife Melissa and Alessan the mage. Since she was skilled with letters, Melissa asked Alessan if she could take her as her apprentice in truth. Therefore they spent all night around the mage-lantern, pouring over old tomes and spell-books. Any scribe could write enough scrolls to fill the libraries of Dalaran, but it took a certain kind of scribe to create the magical tomes and scrolls of power that mages and sorcerers used in battle against their enemies. It was the former that Melissa Redmane knew, and it was the latter that she wished to know.<p>

Tharbin had no magical background, not even a stronger than typical inclination towards the Holy Light as Melissa, so the world of magic was still very strange to him. So it was that he could not sleep with the unnatural blue glow of the mage-lantern from the other side of the room. Even if it couldn't ignite the tent, it kept him awake when he needed to sleep. So he lay there, trying to sleep, with the sounds of the camp and the quiet mutterings of his wife and the elf-mage going on behind his ear.

Just then, he heard the caw of a raven. It was strange, for he hadn't seen any ravens when they first landed or in their various marches across the desert plains. Where had _that_ thing come from, he wondered. Yet he could not ponder it further, for sheer exhaustion finally brought him into the land of sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Wanted to go on more, but it felt like flogging a dead camel. You know, where you've gone as much as you can in one chapter and any more is just too much.)<strong>

**(New chapters will be better, I promise...I _hope_ so.)  
><strong>


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